


Let Me Explain

by Espereth



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Community: skyrimkinkmeme, Gen, Trans Character, Transgender, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-25
Updated: 2013-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-21 07:51:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/897779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Espereth/pseuds/Espereth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alemis Aretius just wants a quiet drink, but Rolff Stone-Fist picks a fight. Trigger warning for transphobic abuse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Explain

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this prompt on the Skyrim Kinkmeme, but doesn't really fit entirely. http://skyrimkinkmeme.livejournal.com/2438.html?thread=5595782#t5595782

"What can I do ye' for, friend?" The Dunmer armorer sized up Alemis with a curious eye, looking up from the heat of his forge. Sweat crept down behind his ears as he worked. Alemis shivered in the cold wind and moved in closer to the fire.

The sooner she got out of this skeever-hole of a city, the better. Windhelm had to be one of her least favourite places. 

Here in the Gray Quarter, though, it wasn't so bad. Everyone was too tired, or to busy, to bother her for looking strange or wearing the wrong clothes. Careworn Dunmer with tired faces and rough workers' hands hurried to and fro on errands. The blacksmith forge, exposed to the harsh Windhelm weather, was tucked away behind two half-collapsing houses. The forge itself, however, was in good repair.

"I want a set of armor," Alemis said. "Light. None of that Altmer crap, though. Shines too bright. I've heard you make something decent from leather and hide." 

The Dunmer's mouth twitched, and she sensed she'd pleased him with her assessment of high-elven craftsmanship. "That I do, Imperial." He looked back to his work, the hammer pounding on glowing orange steel. "Coin?"

"I've got it," Alemis said, a slight defensive edge to creep into her voice. 

"I can see that," the Dunmer told her, having taken in her fresh haul - a satchel over her shoulder, almost spilling over with jewels and gold. "I meant, good sir, 'ow much d'ye want to spend?"

Alemis felt the familiar burn of rage that came whenever she was taken for a man. She'd started fistfights for less. "That's miss, to you," she corrected, her voice dropping in tone inevitably from anger. The Dunmer's eyebrows rose again. She felt him looking over her, imagined him noting the growth of stubble on her face. 

"Right-oh," he said with a shrug. "Whatever you say. 'Ow much d'ye want to spend, miss?"

She shrugged. "One thousand, five hundred."

"For a full set, custom-made?" The Dunmer snorted, dark brows lowering over crimson eyes. "Go and see Oengul War-Anvil. Maybe he'll cut enough corners to fit you out for a thou' and a half. If you want quality, you come back to me with twice that, and we can talk." He went back to his work.

"Two and a half, then," she said. A Dunmer in Windhelm couldn't expect to charge market rates, and he knew it.

"Hmph. Less than my work is worth, miss," he grumbled, but they seemed to have reached an agreement, of sorts. Icy water hissed and steam rose as he quenched the piece he was working on. Then he set it aside and took off his heavy gloves.

"Saren Indaryl," he said, holding out his hand. She shook it. 

"Alemis Aretius."

Saren Indaryl wiped his brow. "Come inside, miss. I'll take your measurements."

The Indaryl house turned out to be the run-down shack west of the forge. Inside, its single room was spotless and orderly, but close-packed. Shelves and racks were filled with Saren's wares and supplies. A small bed in a corner was obscured behind a faded, threadbare tapestry. The most stable part of the whole structure seemed to be a stone fireplace and chimney, and the snapping fire gave off a warm, flickering light. 

A screen hung with simple hessian had been set up for Saren's customers to disrobe in privacy, and Alemis stepped behind it to undress.

"Ready, miss?" Saren asked, tapping on the screen politely.

"Yes." 

"Right-oh. Come on out by the fire."

She stepped out in her underclothes, feeling a little awkward, but Saren went about his business with a detatched professional eye. 

Alemis was taller than he was by about a head. It wouldn't have been an unusual height for a Nord woman, but her dark eyes and hair made it impossible to mistake her for Nordic. Her body was conditioned from many long days scouting and fighting in the remote hills and mineshafts of Skyrim. Her arms were thick and hard, her shoulders broad, her thighs musclebound. Saren's eyebrows raised again as his armorer's eyes assessed her. 

He took her by her shoulders and gently turned her around, mentally noting the dimensions of her body.

"You're broad enough in the shoulder for something heavier than leather, if you want it," he told her. "You could carry the weight well enough. Ever tried Orichalcum, miss?"

"No."

"Well, miss, I spent a year training in Narzulbur, southeast of here. I'd wager I make the best Orcish gear you'll get outside of the strongholds themselves. And it don't shine like that moonstone rubbish. It's heavier, but you'll stay in the shadows, if that's what you want."

"Heavy armor's not my style," said Alemis. 

Saren grunted assent. "Leather it is, then," he said, noting down her measurements on a scrap of paper.

"Maybe you could... you could use Orichalcum, just for the fittings," Alemis said after a while. "And some reinforcement over the chest. Not too much."

"A fine choice, miss. Shall I measure you up for a shield?"

"Never mind that," she told him. "I don't use one."

He nodded. "Aye, then. Boots and helm?"

"Yes."

"Very good, miss. I've got another order to finish. You come back, say, this time the day after tomorrow, and I'll have your gear ready."

She paid a deposit, parting with a thousand worth of hard-won gold. Another thousand and five hundred would be Saren's when her gear was ready. It was a good price, and he hadn't raised it for the orichalcum fittings. She'd probably have paid half as much again in Whiterun.

The thought of Whiterun brought back grim memories. She wasn't welcome there any more, not after the whole incident with the Battle-Borns and Olfina Gray-Mane. One night she'd got roaring drunk in the Bannered Mare and professed her love to Jon Battle-Born. He'd been kind and gentle when he turned her down, but when Idolaf had got wind of it, he'd called her a freak and challenged her to a fist-fight. A fair fight, which Alemis had squarely won. 

Still, she'd managed to set the two most powerful families in Whiterun against her. Apparently it was all her fault that Jon was in love with a Gray-Mane. Her ribs still ached some nights from the beating she'd got while weaving her way home later that night. Idolaf and Olfina were happy to work together when it came to driving the freakish man-woman out of town.

The whole mess was best forgotten. 

It was getting dark, so Alemis headed to Candlehearth Hall, fighting the sense of dread that always accompanied her when she sought out a place to stay while in unfamiliar ground. 

Sure enough, the innkeeper, Elda Early-Dawn, looked her up and down, dubiously. "And who are you, then?"

"You ask all travelers that? Do you want my coin, or not? If so, I'll take a room, and a meal. Otherwise I'll be on my way."

"Humph," said Elda. "Thirty septims. Room's down that way."

Alemis was too cold and tired to care about the innkeeper's rudeness, or the fact that she was obviously being overcharged. The boar Elda was serving for the night's meal was still roasting, so Alemis ordered a pail of hot water - which cost her another five septims, though it should have been included with the room - and went to her room to bathe. 

She looked herself over in the reflection of a silver bowl on the mantelpiece in her room. After days on the road, she really needed to shave. She got out her dagger, cleaned it in the hot water, and used it with the foam from some crushed mountain flowers to clear the stubble from her cheeks and jawline. 

Once she was shaved, washed and dried, and dressed in a clean but creased blue skirt and a pretty, lace-trimmed tunic, she felt more like herself. She smiled at her reflection in the silver bowl. Not bad, she thought, and headed back into the great hall to eat.

She took her meal upstairs with the rest of the evening's patrons, drawn by the sound of music and laughter. Hard lessons in life had made Alemis reserved, but she enjoyed the company of people. Some people, anyway. 

She didn't enjoy the company of Rolff Stone-Fist, as she soon discovered.

"What do we have here?" the Nord demanded, wandering drunkenly over upon catching sight of Alemis minding her own business, seated at a table in a corner of the inn's great hall. "Are you confused?" 

A few others nearby glanced over, looked at broad-shouldered, dark-haired Alemis in her pretty tunic and laughed, but most were too busy enjoying the music. A Dunmer bard was playing a lively tune on her lute, and the fair-haired Nord serving girl had joined in the dancing, whirling in a circle with an ecstatically happy old sea-captain on her arm. 

"Not at all," Alemis replied calmly.

"You _look_ confused," Rolff said. He reached out to tug on the lace trim of her tunic. _Confused, or confusing?_ Alemis thought, sighing to herself. This was going to end in another fight, and once again, it'd all be her fault. "I don't like it," Rolff went on. "Too many strange folk around Windhelm these days." 

"Really?" Alemis raised her eyebrows. "Funny how neither of us likes the way the other looks. Maybe we should leave each other alone." She was itching to slam her fist through this idiot's face, but she didn't fancy spending the night on the streets of Windhelm, or worse, in a jail cell.

The bard, perhaps in a fit of daring while the aggressive Rolff was distracted, had switched to playing an old Vvardenfell folk tune. One or two Nords grumbled at this and wandered off, but most either didn't notice, or didn't care, staying to dance with the cheerful serving girl. "As though that sort of thing ain't enough," Rolff went on, nodding his head unsteadily at the bard. He leaned in closer. "I'd like to know, what in Oblivion do you think you are?"

"I'd like to know why in Oblivion you think that's any of your business," Alemis said quietly, setting down her mug. 

"It is my business, see," he said, looking around the room for support. A man in threadbare beggar's clothes was watching the interaction with approval. "It is our business, isn't it, Angrenor?" Rolff called to the beggar. "It's our business, because it's our city." He was now speaking loud enough that the crowd of people stopped dancing to listen. The bard had stopped playing, and the Nord serving girl looked worried. 

"Rolff," she said, "maybe you've had enough mead for now. Why don't you come downstairs with me, and I'll get you some of Elda's apple pie?"

"You keep out of it, Susanna," Rolff said. He realised that everyone was watching him, and turned back to Alemis. "You a Dunmer-lover like Susanna the Slut? Huh? What about that bard, you like the look of her?" He waved a hand sloppily at the bard, whose instincts had wisely guided her to pack away her instruments for safety's sake. "Or you prefer grayskin cock up your ass? Ever had a big Nord cock, like mine? Huh? Which do you want, Imperial? What do you think you are?"

Alemis stood up, stepping clear of the small table she'd been seated at. "Dragonborn," she replied calmly. 

"Huh?"

"I think I'm Dragonborn," she said. "Let me explain it to you in small words. FUS...RO-DAH!"

Rolff Stone-Fist's body slammed into the opposite wall of Candlehearth Hall. Tables and chairs went flying, barrels rolled this way and that, mead mugs tipped over - a great shame, that, Alemis thought - and the fire danced and roared crazily in the wake of her full-forced Shout.

The hall fell completely silent. Alemis started to walk over to Rolff Stone-Fist's limp body. She wasn't sure whether she hoped he was dead or alive. She nudged him with the toe of her boot, saw his chest rise and fall, then looked around.

"Anyone else have something to say?" She asked. Silence.

Then Elda Early-Dawn came running up the stairs, flanked by two guards in Stormcloak armor.

"Talos preserve us!" She cried. "What's going on here? Who was that Shouting? Is the candle still lit?"

Alemis held up her hands, showing that she was unarmed. "Nothing's going on. It's all sorted out," she said. "Rolff had a problem with me, and we... talked about it."

Angrenor, the beggar, had helped Rolff to sit up. Rolff was breathing steadily, but his head lolled.

"What did you do to Rolff?" Elda demanded.

Alemis cursed herself silently. A fistfight would have been better, she thought. She'd still have won, and then, at least, it would've been someone's idea of a fair fight. She had no idea how to answer the question.

"Just a little argument, Elda," Susanna said, stepping in. "Rolff had too much to drink, like usual. I'll clean up here - why don't you go and get these good people some more mead?"

"Well, Elda? What do you want us to do?" asked one of the Stormcloak guards.

Elda looked around at the chaos of the hall, then at Alemis. Alemis knew she was going to get the blame for this, and for once, it probably was her fault. No matter how offensive Rolff was, most ordinary people were as defenceless as a child in the face of the Thu'um. She should have just punched him. Now everyone thought her even more of a freak than they had before.

But the mention of a fresh round of mead had everyone's support, and Elda's innkeeper's instinct told her that more trouble meant less coin. She subsided, and addressed the guards. "There's no need to arrest this... person..." - the innkeeper waved her hand in Alemis' general direction - "unless, er, _he_ won't go quietly. Be careful though. You heard the Thu'um."

"We could hardly miss it," said one of the guards. "Well, sir, you heard the innkeeper. Get your things."

Fuming, Alemis went back to her room, packed her bag and threw a bear-fur cloak over her shoulders. She'd need it, on the streets tonight. She had some potions that would dull the feel of the icy wind, but it would be a harsh night. She felt the prickle of tears begin behind her eyes. Yet another town she was outcast from. 

When she turned to leave, Susanna was standing in her doorway. 

"I just wanted to say, I'm sorry I couldn't be more help to you, traveler," she said. "Rolff deserved what he got, and more. Many's the time I've seen him like that with my friend Luaffyn - the bard - and nobody ever does anything to stop him. I always wanted to, but I never knew what to do."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Alemis shrugged, nonplussed. "I didn't mean anybody any harm. I just wanted to drink in peace."

"I know. Listen, you go and find the New Gnisis Cornerclub. Talk to Ambarys Rendar, tell him you're a friend of mine. They call me Susanna the Wicked. I can't say Rendar likes me much - or Luaffyn, for that matter - but we go there a lot. He knows us. Oh, and take this." With a quick look over her shoulder, she offered the coin Alemis had paid to Elda.

"I don't want it," Alemis said at once.

"I didn't think you would," Susanna said, with a small grin. "But I had to offer. I'm sorry to wound your pride. You sound like a Nord, you know. Anyway, Rendar will give you a bed for the night. No-one should have to sleep outside in Windhelm."

"Thank you," Alemis said. She looked at the Nord girl and managed a smile. Susanna seemed like a decent person. Alemis found herself wondering if she really had made a friend, or whether Susanna was just taking pity on her, telling her to mention her name to Ambarys Rendar.

"And listen - you didn't hear it from me," Susanna said, "but you'll get a real drink there. A good strong sujamma beats Elda's watered-down mead any day."


End file.
